


The Game

by LibraryOfNeith



Series: Faith, Hope and War [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Epic finale, F/F, F/M, Postpartum Depression, Sorry People Gonna Die, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryOfNeith/pseuds/LibraryOfNeith
Summary: Returning to Westeros by the side of the Dragon Queen, Sansa must face the trials of winning back her homeland, learning to be a mother, and fixing her strained relationship with her husband. Families will be reunited and torn apart, empires will rise and fall, and the fate of Westeros will finally be decided.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: Faith, Hope and War [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1375246
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. Beginning's End

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with the final installment in this series, hope you enjoy it. Thank you for your patience and support. Writing this is a delight, but a challenge and it's your kudos and your lovely messages that inspire me to keep going. I'll try to post fairly regularly, about once a week, *laughs hysterically*. I apologise in advance for keeping you waiting. On with the story!

_Cersei, Kings Landing_

A smirk crept across Cersei’s face as she surveyed the green lantern that had once been the Great Sept of Baelor. The screams of people caught near the blast drifted towards her on the wind like the chirps of little birds. The last time she’d stood at Baelor’s steps she’d been stripped, shaved and humiliated. Now the steps, the surrounding streets, and many of the people that had witnessed her humiliation no longer existed. Thanks to her, as far as anyone was now concerned, that humiliation had never happened.

Over the screams and the burning she heard a respectful little knock at her door. She bid the knocker enter and Qyburn crept in.

“Margaery Tyrell?”  
“Secure, Your Grace. One of my little helpers snuck her out of the Sept and delivered her to Ser Meryn who then escorted her to the Black Cells.”  
“Pycelle?”  
“My little helpers took care of him too.”  
“I trust that they disposed of him effectively?”  
“Without a trace. Of course, since he was also due at the trial, no one will suspect the end he came to.”  
“Good. And the Small Council?”  
“The one member that’s left is assembled in the Council Chambers.”  
“I’d better join him then. Tell Ser Robert to meet me there.”

Lord Paxter Redwyne sat; pale and shaking, when Cersei and Qyburn, shadowed by the immense Robert Strong, walked in on him. He stumbled to his feet to greet her.

“Y – y – Your Grace.”  
“My Lord, I was relieved to hear that you had escaped the terrible fire at the Great Sept.”  
“I was s – so close. If I hadn’t set out late and b – been harassed by those thieves I would have…” Cersei shushed him.  
“It would not do to dwell on such horrific possibilities. You were lucky. Your fellow councilmembers were not so; Lord Mace Tyrell and the Grand Maester were so unfortunate as to be caught in the blast.”  
“Who would ever do such a thing?”  
“With this coming so soon after my dearest Uncle Kevan’s murder, I must assume that whoever was responsible for that is responsible for this too. Thankfully, there is some good news.” Paxter looked at her in amazement, that she could speak of good news at such a time! “Margaery Tyrell is safe. Ser Meryn sensed that something dangerous was afoot, broke her out of her cell and escorted her back to the Red Keep.”  
“The Queen is alive?” Cersei’s comforting smile became more than a little strained. _That little doe-eyed whore is no queen._  
“I would refrain from referring to her as ‘The Queen’. Without a High Septon or Holy Council to try her, and with the evidence at hand, I’ve had no choice but to declare her guilty of adultery and treason. Of course, this means that she is no longer fit to be wife to the King.” _No one is fit to wed my boy, no one could ever be._  
“C – can you…”  
“With Kevan murdered and the rest of the council dead, I must assume regency. So, of course, I have the power to declare her guilty.”  
“What is to be done with her?”  
“Obviously we can’t afford to execute her.” _As tempting as the thought is_ she said privately to herself.  
“She is currently to be kept in a manner befitting that of an adulteress and traitor.”  
“The Black Cells? But, my La… I mean my Queen; she is the daughter of one of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms and well loved by the people.”  
“I am aware of her lineage” she snapped; a bit sharper than she meant to. “But no one can escape justice, no matter which house they’re from. And I’m sure she won’t be so well loved once the truth about her deeds comes out. Anyway, we have more pressing matters to attend to. Qyburn brings news that Daenerys Targaryen has landed on Dragonstone with six known traitors to the Crown: Varys, my vicious little brother Tyrion, Asha and Theon Greyjoy, and Sandor and Sansa Clegane.” _It was probably one of those vipers that murdered Kevan, most likely Varys or Tyrion. Who knows how well they can hide themselves?_ Cersei shuddered at the thought and glanced nervously at the walls, imagining Tyrion’s twisted face smirking at her, unseen. She pushed the image out of her head and continued.  
“We must begin with preparations for war. First we must be assured of the loyalty of the Tyrells. Qyburn, take this down.” With a flourish, he produced a quill and parchment as if out of thin air.

“Lord Willas. It is with deepest regret that I write to inform you of your noble father’s death. He was, of course, among the lords and ladies gathered in Baelor’s Sept for your sister’s trial when it was destroyed with wildfire. Although we have not yet found the person responsible for this tragedy, we suspect the Dragon Queen did this to cause unrest in the city as she begins her quest to usurp my son, your king. Your sister Margaery, I am happy to inform you, was rescued by one of the Kingsguard before the wildfire could take her. She has, however, been found guilty of adultery, and her marriage to King Tommen annulled. The Crown hopes that your father’s tragedy and your sister’s fornication will not affect your family’s close friendship with the Lannisters and that you will soon send your gallant brother Garlan to act as Master of War so that together, we may destroy the threat of this foreign queen.”

“You would make ser Garlan Master of War, Your Grace?” Paxter asked, as if scared to raise the question.  
“But of course; Ser Garlan is a great warrior. I can think of no better man to lead our armies.” _And no better way to keep his ambitious family under my thumb._ “Qyburn, I would also send a raven to this Targaryen girl.” Qyburn produced another piece of parchment.

“To Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen…”


	2. Rain of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The small council of the Dragon Queen assemble on Dragonstone.

_Sansa, Dragonstone_

Jeyne fastened the last hook into place and it was complete. Sansa surveyed herself. For the first meeting of Daenerys’ small council she was premiering one of several dresses she’d made on the journey from Meereen to Dragonstone; completely black with a column-shape skirt and a high collar, metalwork fastened into the bodice and the ends of the sleeves. Cersei had liked to include metalwork on her gowns, saying that a bit of armour was useful in the capital. It would be useful when fighting a war as well. With her flame-red tresses scraped away from her face and pulled back into a bun, Sansa’s reflection surprised her. There was no trace of the demure young maiden from Kings Landing, or the relaxed woman of leisure from Pentos. She looked like a warrior, a leader, even a queen.

She turned to Jeyne who gave her a shy smile.

“How do I look?”

“Fearsome, My Lady. You’ve always been so beautiful. When I was younger I wished constantly that I looked like you.” Sansa smiled to acknowledge the compliment, though in truth, there’d been many times over the years when she wished that she wasn’t so beautiful. _When you’re beautiful, every man thinks they have a right to you._

Sandor knocked and entered their chambers, Helena in his arms. He too had put effort into his appearance; he wore a black leather doublet over a grey tunic with white detailing around the collar and a black cloak to match. _He’s wearing my house colours_ Sansa realised with a pang before reminding herself that they were now his house colours too. When Helena saw her, she gave a wide, toothless grin and gurgled. Sandor placed her in Sansa’s arms. The girl cooed contentedly and Sansa looked down into her eyes that were so filled with love and hoped to all the gods that Helena saw love in her eyes too. _It – she is my baby. My daughter, and I love her_. Sansa did love her – she did – she just sometimes had to remind her mind. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Sansa passed her to her nurse: Jaenis. She’d delivered Helena, stayed by Sansa’s side as she adjusted to motherhood and had crossed the Narrow Sea to start a new life with them in Westeros. Sansa trusted her with her daughter, perhaps a bit more than she trusted herself.

Sansa turned back to Sandor and could see in his eyes that he’d noticed the strange turn she’d taken.

“Are you alright little bird?”

“I’m fine. Shall we?”

She took his arm and together they made their way to the council chamber.

They all sat in a circle. Tyrion Lannister: Hand of the Queen. Greyworm: Master of War. Asha Greyjoy: Master of Ships. Varys: Master of Whispers. Ser Jorah Mormont and Barristan Selmy: Queensguard. The 11-year-old translator Missandei, shyly trailing her Queen. The Queen herself was looking pensively out to the turbulent seas beyond when she and Sandor entered. It seemed every day on Dragonstone brought some form of wind or rain or grey skies. Whoever had built this fort had, for some reason, thought it a good idea to leave a set of measly pillars facing the sea where there ought to be a wall or some windows. It amused Sansa to think that perhaps the architect had made this unusual design choice to bring discomfort and misery to the great lords, ladies and monarchs who would reside here – a far cry from the plush cushions and drapes they would have been used to. The torches did little to ward off the cold as the wind echoed throughout the chamber and the rain left little spatters on the faces of all who sat in it, as soft as a lover’s kiss. After several minutes of silence, the Queen spoke.

“It’s worse than it was yesterday.”   
“It’s for you, Your Grace. You are Stormborn after all.” Daenerys gave her a perplexed look.   
“I didn’t take you for a believer in divine intervention, Lady Sansa.”   
“Not divine intervention. Dramatic irony.” Daenerys gave a little smile then turned to face the rest of her council.

“Varys, you said you had news from Kings Landing.”   
“Yes, Your Grace. Things have escalated rather quickly; Cersei destroyed the Great Sept and all those gathered in it for the trial of Margaery Tyrell. With all of the small council – except for Paxter Redwyne – dead, Cersei has assumed the role of regent.” Daenerys’ jaw tensed.   
“You told me that Cersei Lannister was virtually powerless, she was marched naked through the streets.”   
“Clearly she has regained quite a bit of power. In many ways, this could be good for us; Cersei is far less rational than her uncle: Ser Kevan would have been, in that way she may be less formidable.” Sansa couldn’t hold back a snigger. Everyone in the room turned to her. If Varys was offended, he didn’t show it. “My Lady, if you have something to say then, I pray, do not withhold your wisdom.”   
“With all due respect, Varys, when you… disposed of Kevan did you expect that this would be the outcome?” Again, Varys showed no obvious emotion, apart from a slight struggle to choose his words.   
“I did not expect that she would be so… brazen.”   
“So you did not expect this?”   
“I did say that she was irrational.”   
“Which does not make her a less formidable foe. By removing ser Kevan from the equation, you may have stripped Cersei of any wisdom that was previously at her disposal, but you have also removed any restraint. My advice to you my lords, ladies, and My Queen, when it comes to Cersei, don’t expect her to take the logical course of action. Expect her to take the course of violence and chaos.”

The echo of “chaos” rang out in the air for a few seconds before Daenerys continued.

“This Margaery Tyrell, what became of her?”   
“My little birds tell me that she mysteriously disappeared minutes before her trial was due to begin.”   
“Cersei probably wanted a guarantee of the Tyrells continued loyalty to her,” Tyrion observed, “but she might have inadvertently given us the key to them instead.” Daenerys nodded her agreement.   
“The Tyrells will want their precious flower back, and I can offer them the opportunity to save her. Of course, with her in Cersei’s clutches, they will never openly rebel. We will have to be discreet in the offer of this opportunity.” She turned to Varys. “You have a talent for discretion, do you not?” He almost smiled.   
“I do.”   
“Then you’d better make preparations for a trip to Highgarden.” She turned back to Tyrion. “I expect the Tyrell boy will be of use in this endeavour.”   
“I expect he will. Maester Pylos tells me that given time and rest, he should make a full recovery.”   
“From how he got his injury, we can tell that he’s brave.” _That’s a kind word for stupid_ Sansa thought to herself. “But is he loyal?”   
“To the Lannisters? About as loyal as the next Tyrell,” Tyrion quipped.   
“Then I look forward to speaking with him, once he regains consciousness. Varys, before you leave, what of your friends the Martells?” “Doran sends word that he has been preparing for your return for many years and looks forward to aiding your ascent to the Iron Throne.”   
“Then he will join us on Dragonstone to help plan the war?”   
“Alas, his health prevents him from leaving Sunspear, but he sends his daughter Arianne and his nieces Nymeria, Tyene and Obara Sand in his stead. Arianne I am told has a shrewd political mind and her cousins: these sandsnakes, are supposedly great warriors.”   
“Then I look forward to their arrival. Now,” she said, casting her eyes to Sansa, “we must make preparations for the North. Stannis suffered a rather humiliating defeat at the hands of the Boltons. The Northern Lords must yearn for a saviour.”   
“I wouldn’t say the people of the North _yearn_ for anything, but I agree. Now would be a good time to reach out to them,” Sansa answered.   
“And how would you go about it?”   
“Northerners, for the most part, are frank and honest people. The best way to get through to them would be to send an envoy to meet them in person so that we can speak face-to-face and they can decide whether or not they like the look of us. I would start with the Manderleys of White Harbour. They’re the easiest to reach from here, and one of Lord Wyman’s sons was killed and another imprisoned during the red wedding…” Sansa swallowed her tears as she thought of her family’s massacre, “so, he has no love for the Boltons or the Freys.” Daenerys and her council all gave their support for this idea.

“I’m told that Northerners are most likely to listen to other Northerners, especially a Stark. I think that you should be this envoy.”   
“I’ll be happy to represent you, Your Grace.”   
“I’d have you take Ser Jorah with you, for protection, but also to add another Northern name to support your cause.” Jorah looked upset at this news.   
“Khaleesi, I would not be parted from you. You need me.”   
“You’re right, I do need you. I need you in White Harbour, protecting my trusted advisor and rallying support for my cause.” He still looked reluctant but, clearly realising this was not up for discussion, bowed to Daenerys then Sansa, saying:   
“My sword is yours, Lady Sansa.” Sansa smiled warmly in response.   
“With a bear and a hound watching over me, I don’t think I could feel safer.”

Daenerys blanched slightly. Sansa felt her chest tighten as she could already guess the reason.

“My Queen?”   
“I would have your husband remain here at Dragonstone.” The crash of a chair falling back rattled throughout the chamber as Sandor stood abruptly. Jorah, Barristan, Asha and Greyworm looked as though they were about to draw swords but their Queen signalled for them to remain calm.   
“Absolutely not. Where the little bird goes, I go.” Somewhere in the tumult of her mind, Sansa realised that was the first time he’d used his pet-name for her in front of other people, apart from Helena. She placed a hand on his sword arm; partly to reassure him, partly as a show of solidarity before their allies who now wanted to separate him.   
“My Queen, why can’t Sandor come with me to White Harbour? It would mean one more man protecting me.”   
“I understand the separation will be hard on you and Lord Stark…”   
“You understand nothing” Sandor growled between his teeth. She gave him a fixed stare then continued.   
“It must be done. Sandor is too recognisable; his face and stature would draw unwanted attention. Besides, what of your daughter? You can’t possibly take her with you to on your campaign and would you leave her here without either of her parents?”

That clearly struck a chord with Sandor. Sansa had just assumed they’d leave her in the care of Jeyne and Jaenis. _Any other mother would be destroyed at the thought of abandoning her child_ she reprimanded herself. She and Sandor exchanged a look and silently agreed with each other.

“Very well. Sandor and I will find a way to endure the separation.”

A timid knock at the door brought in Maester Pylos.

“If it please Your Grace, a raven from Kings Landing.”

Wordlessly, Daenerys plucked it from the Maester’s shaking fingers, broke the seal and read aloud.

“To Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen,

You seek to usurp my son: Tommen of House Baratheon, First of His Name and Rightful Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. This would be treason if he were your king and Westeros your country, but you are a foreign queen; hailing from foreign lands and with foreign supporters. King Tommen, out of the generosity of his heart, offers you this one chance to reconsider before we must declare war. Renounce all claims to the Iron Throne, swear never to wage war on these lands again, and turn over the true traitors in your midst: Tyrion Lannister, Varys, Asha and Theon Greyjoy, and Sandor and Sansa Clegane. Do this, and we will allow you to return in peace to your foreign lands with your foreign supporters, where you belong. Fail to meet these terms, and we will rain fire upon you.

Signed Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms.”

With a small smile, Daenerys walked over to one of torches, and watched as the flames licked away at the paper. Her smile became a grin as the fire kissed her fingertips.

“Do you wish to send a response?”

“Send a raven back to Kings Landing saying this, and only this.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Dracarys.”


	3. I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone long lost is following Sansa home.

_Arya, Somewhere Across the Narrow Sea_

The sea was calm. The only disturbance was this small ship cutting its way through the water like a knife through butter on a hot day. The seafoam bubbled and frothed around the hull and the waves lapped over each other, racing each other out into the ocean. The ship was a cluster of movement in the middle of a vast bed of tranquillity. The ship was movement, life, action, and it was taking her back to soil she hadn’t stepped on in a long time. She knew it was time to return when she heard from A Man that the Dragon Queen was on the move, and that she had a certain red-headed northerner with her.

“A Man wore the face of a Meereenese and saw Daenerys Stormborn board a ship bound for Westeros. He saw many Westerosi there; from the South, and from the North.” Her ears had perked up.   
“The North?”   
“A woman with red hair, blue eyes and pale skin. She boarded the ship with the Dragon Queen. Does a Girl know of any Northern girls with red hair, blue eyes and pale skin?” _This is a trick_ she thought. _He wants to see if I remember who I am._   
“A Girl knows no one of that description, but Arya Stark did. Arya Stark had a pretty sister with hair like fire, eyes like the sky, and skin like porcelain, and her name was Sansa.”   
“And does Arya Stark still have a pretty sister called Sansa?”   
“A Girl has no sister.”   
“But Arya Stark does.” She scowled. She didn’t know what to say next; what he wanted her to say. “Does A Girl still want to be No One or does she want to take up the face of Arya Stark again?”   
“Why would she want to do that?”   
“This is her one chance to retrieve what she has lost. She might regret it forever if she does not.” It was always silent in the House of Black and White but no silence had ever hung as heavy as that one. Still, she knew her answer even as A Man opened his mouth to speak.

“Does A Girl…”   
“I am not ‘A Girl’. I am Arya Stark, and I’m going home.” Arya almost saw a trace of regret in A Man’s face as he nodded.   
“Very well. A Man will get food and supplies for Arya Stark and book her passage on the next ship to Westeros. Will Arya Stark go to her sister?”   
“Perhaps, but there are other things for me in Westeros, other people I need to find, things I have lost. Why, what is it to A Man?”   
“Nothing, of course.” Before she lost sight of him she called out:   
“Jaquen!” She thought at first he wouldn’t respond to that name, but he stopped. “Thank you.” He was silent for a time, but then he responded:   
“You’re welcome.”

Arya heard a cry go up, looked west and saw a thin stretch of land rapidly approaching. It wasn’t the home she knew; everything about it had changed since she was last there and would change still. Only this time, with any luck, the change wouldn’t happen to her, but because of her. Her and Sansa. Sansa: the sister she whom she’d hated so much; who was everything that Arya hated and would never be; who was her main source of torment growing up. She never thought she’d be so excited to see her again, almost as excited as she was to see…but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. She was closer to her family than she’d been in years, but she had miles to go to get to them, and miles to go with them.


	4. Choking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gap between Sansa and Sandor widens, before she reaches a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in this chapter for more discussions of depression. See end of chapter for more info.

_Sansa, Dragonstone_

Helena nestled into her blanket as Sansa gently rocked her crib back and forth. She’d made that blanket while she was pregnant, it was embroidered in the centre with a hound and a direwolf nestled together with a little red bird in between them. She’d placed it in Helena’s crib on her first night in this world and Helena had clutched it to her from Meereen to Dragonstone and would not be parted from it. Sansa liked watching her sleep with it – it reminded her of the good things she’d done for her in the past, and the good things she could do for her now. _Leaving is a good thing_ she told herself. _I am helping to depose a tyrannical ruler, keeping her safe, I am securing her inheritance. She’ll miss me, but she’ll understand when she’s older._

She heard the door click shut behind her and she whipped her head round, but it was only Sandor.

“Is she resting?” Sansa nodded. He peered into her crib and smiled at the sight of his daughter resting peacefully. “Ser Jorah tells me everything’s prepared.” He looked at her, almost as if he wanted her to tell him it wasn’t true. Sansa nodded.   
“We leave tomorrow morning.”   
“Are you alright?”

She paused; she wasn’t sure how to answer that. Of course, she was going to miss Sandor and Helena terribly. They’d been all that she lived for, for so long and she would feel their absence every day; but with the pain, there was also slight relief. At least if she wasn’t with Helena, no one would be able to see that she was failing as a mother. Every day she could feel Sandor’s eyes on her as she rocked her, held her, fed her. She knew that he could see the coolness in her eyes whenever she looked on her own daughter and she was consumed by guilt. She loved Helena, she knew she did, but she still felt this strange detachment from her. She didn’t know why, she didn’t understand it, how could she expect him to understand, especially when he was such an amazing father to her? His eyes lit up every time he saw her, as if it was the first time he’d seen her. She saw the love in Helena – whenever Sandor was holding her tiny form in his huge arms her face would break into this beautiful beam. It was the happiest she ever saw her daughter, happier than she is with me. This cool detachment she was experiencing terrified Sansa. She lay awake at night wondering: _what must he think of me? Does he think I don’t love her? Will he stop loving me? I’d stop loving me. Perhaps I’m not worthy of his love._

She suddenly realised that as she’d been processing his question, she hadn’t spoken in several minutes. She put on a smile and looked back at him.

“I’m fine.”   
“No, you’re not.” She feigned surprise.   
“I’m not?”   
“No. I know it and you know it too.”   
“And how do you know this?”   
“You’re wearing the same smile that you used to wear when you told Joffrey you loved him.” That struck a blow with Sansa, and for a minute she didn’t know what to say. “Sansa, please tell me what’s wrong.”   
“Nothing is wrong.”   
“That’s not true.”   
“Are you calling me a liar?” _And now it begins, I knew he’d pull away from me eventually._   
“Of course I’m not calling you a liar, but I can tell you’re hurting, you’re not telling me why and I don’t know what to do.” She was starting to panic now, how could she explain to him why she was hurting when she didn’t even know herself?   
“Fine. It’s just because I’m leaving, I’m scared of being separated from you and Helena.”   
“No, it’s more than that. Something’s been wrong since we left Meereen. You’re down all the time; you barely seem to feel anything anymore.” Even now, after over a year of marriage, Sansa was still surprised at how well Sandor seemed to know her. It was as though he had unlimited access to her thoughts, dreams and fears. But how could she admit to something as terrible as not feeling like she loved her own daughter?   
“It’s nothing like that, stop telling me what I think and feel!”   
“Fine, I won’t. Then tell me what it is like. Why can’t I reach you, why can’t our daughter reach you?”   
“Stop it.”   
“No, I won’t. Why are you pulling away from me, Sansa? Do you regret it, do you regret me and Helena?”   
“STOP IT!”

Helena’s wails cut through the room and Sansa was practically relieved that they finally had a distraction, but she sighed as though she were annoyed.

“Well done. It took me ages to get her down.”   
“I’ll see to her.” Sandor scooped her up and she stopped crying almost immediately. Sansa was stuck. She didn’t want to leave it like this, but she didn’t know what to say to make it better.

“Sandor.”   
“Yes?”   
“I…” her words were becoming choked by tears. “I don’t regret you.” She turned and ran from the room.

\---

Sansa rocked herself back and forth as waves crashed around her. She’d found a spot soon after arriving at Dragonstone in one of the caves. No one ever came here, no one else seemed to know about it. Planning a war didn’t leave much time for exploring. Sansa was glad for that, it meant that this spot was hers, and hers alone. It would always be here; empty and waiting whenever she needed it, and she really needed it today.

“Lady Sansa?” She sighed, cursing her cosmic bad luck that someone would find her special spot today of all days. At least it wasn’t one of her fellow council members or her Queen. She recognised the soft, low voice and Eastern accent of Helena’s nurse.   
“I’m here Jaenis.”   
“My Lady.” Jaenis approached her gradually but with a kind look in her eyes. “I wish to speak with you, privately.”   
“Well I’m here now. What can I do for you?”   
“I – well, I’ve noticed that you have been in low spirits recently.” _Oh gods, not her too._ “And I overheard you and your husband…”   
“You were eavesdropping on a private conversation?” Sansa snapped. She immediately felt guilty when Jaenis flinched slightly, but to the woman’s credit – she stood her ground. 

“I didn’t mean to listen in, you were both speaking rather loudly.” A flush came over her. She hoped that no one else had overheard the argument between her and Sandor. “But, I want to help you, and I think I know what plagues you. I’ve seen it in many mothers before.” That made Sansa light up. The thought that she might not be alone in this, that she wasn’t some freak of nature, gave her more hope than she’d had in a long time.   
“Really, what is it?” Some hesitation came over Jaenis.   
“There isn’t exactly a name for it. All the healers, maesters and physicians I’ve known refuse to acknowledge its existence, but I’ve noticed it and many other midwives and nurses have."   
“Noticed what? What’s wrong with me?” Sympathy came over her eyes in that moment.   
“Sometimes after giving birth, women find themselves feeling… melancholy, tired, or they might struggle to feel anything. They might also struggle to bond with their children. Does this sound like what’s been happening with you?”

Tears had started to form in Sansa’s eyes when she spoke of “struggling to feel anything” so by the time Jaenis asked her this she was crying too hard to speak. She merely nodded. As soon as she saw how much pain she was in, Jaenis rushed to Sansa’s side.

“I just – I didn’t know what was happening, why I felt this way. And I didn’t tell anyone what was happening because, gods help me, I felt so ashamed.” Jaenis took her in an embrace that almost reminded her of the way her mother used to hold her.   
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are not the only woman who has gone through this, and it doesn’t make you a bad mother or a bad person.”   
“How do I fix this, is there a treatment?” For a moment, Jaenis seemed to reflect Sansa’s bewilderment.   
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, My Lady. Like I said before: most of the great healers in the world seem to ignore this illness and haven’t developed a treatment.”   
“Then what do I do? I can’t stand feeling like this!”   
“From my own experience, I’ve seen that talking to others experiencing this can help a great deal.”   
“But I don’t know any other women going through this. There aren’t any other mothers on Dragonstone and I doubt there will be any on the road to Winterfell.”   
“You have me, for now.” Jaenis replied, sounding slightly offended. “And, if I were you, I’d consider talking to your husband.” Sansa felt fear creeping over her again, which was immediately noticed. “I know you fear that he will reject you but, from what I’ve seen, he really loves you and will do anything to help you. But he can’t help you, if you don’t tell him how.”   
“How am I supposed to tell him how to help me when I don’t even know myself?” Silence hung in the air, before she replied:   
“I guess you will just have to discover that together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear, Sansa is suffering from Post-Natal/Partum Depression (depression caused by a hormonal in balance after giving birth and/or exhaustion from new motherhood). In this chapter, Jaenis says there isn't a treatment but that's ONLY because this is set in a fantasy world with medieval levels of healthcare. In reality, there is more awareness about this condition, though there could always be more. So, if you're suffering from this, or from any other mental illness, open up to friends and family, consult your doctor or a councillor, and consider any of the various treatments available i.e. therapy, medication etc. (with professional advice of course). Thanks for reading, this is pretty important stuff so I thought it was worth and acknowledgement.


	5. Dying a Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor finally confront the problems in their marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have sat patiently through so much plot, exposition and relationship drama, you deserve a little treat...of the smutty variety!

_Sandor, Dragonstone_

_Do you regret it? Do you regret me and Helena? Fuck. Why did I have to push her so far?_ He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He didn’t mean it, or perhaps he did. He’d always been scared of losing her and recently he’d felt increasingly that she was drifting out of his grasp. If I hadn’t lost her before, I bet I have now. Why did I say those things to her? I should never have even brought it up.

“Sandor?” He jumped slightly. Normally his senses were as sharp as Valyrian steel but he’d been so busy hating himself he hadn’t noticed the open and shut of the door. His anticipation of danger was rapidly overwhelmed by relief that Sansa was here and eagerness to make things right.

“I’m sorry.” They both uttered at the same time then giggled nervously. “You go first” Sansa prompted.

“I’m so sorry for what I said, y’know, about me and Helena. I know you don’t regret us and I shouldn’t have even suggested it.”  
“It’s alright, I understand why you might have thought it. I haven’t exactly been the most attentive mother or wife recently.” _Fuck me, she can’t honestly think that I think she’s a bad mother, can she?_  
“I don’t think you’re a bad mother, and no one could ask for a better wife. Even now I can’t believe you’re mine, I don’t deserve you.”  
“Me? I don’t deserve you. For so long you were the only good thing in my life, the only person I could rely on. And now, watching you as a father – every time you hold Helena, every time she sees you – you’re so good with her. You’re better than I am.”

Sandor knew what he wanted to say next, but he was scared to say it. He’d tried a few hours ago and it had dissolved into a screaming match. _How am I more scared to talk to my wife than I am to fight an army of bloodthirsty enemies?_

“Sansa, what’s going on with you? I don’t want to insult you, or make you feel judged, but I’ve noticed you’ve become so distant and I don’t know why. I don’t know if this is just because of everything going on, or something else incredibly obvious. Maybe I’m just being thick, but I want to help you.”

Sansa looked up at him with those incredible blue eyes of hers. He thought, once again about how beautiful her eyes were. When he looked at them he saw her strength and the steel she’d shown throughout all her years of turmoil. He saw the experiences he had shared with them and the love that they had against all odds built together. Perhaps the most amazing thing he saw when he looked into her eyes were the eyes of his daughter, even if everyone said she had his eyes, he still just saw Sansa when he looked at Helena.

“Sandor, you’re not being thick. For such a long time I didn’t know what was going on with me, I’m still not sure really. I was talking with Jaenis earlier. Being a midwife, she’s seen a lot of women in the aftermath of giving birth and she – she recognised what I was going through.”  
“What is it?”  
“She said there’s no name for it, it’s not even officially recognised by most of the maesters and healers of the known world but she’s seen it in a lot of new mothers. Apparently it’s not uncommon for woman to become melancholy after they give birth, to feel disconnected and struggle to – struggle to bond with their new child.” Tears were starting to stream down her face so Sandor pressed her tightly to his chest, supporting her as she sobbed. Once her crying had slowed to a gradual quiet and he’d had time to think how best to reply he spoke.

“Isn’t this a good thing? At least now we know that this isn’t just something that you are going through.”  
“I suppose but there’s still so much that we don’t know about this. There’s no treatment or known cure and what if this never goes away? What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?”  
“We won’t let that happen. You and me, we’re going to figure this out. It won’t be easy but whatever comes, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this anymore, I’m here for you, I’m here with you.”  
“But you won’t be. I’m leaving tomorrow.”  
“Hey.” He lifted her face to meet his. “You and I will be together for the rest of our lives. What’s a couple of months compared to that?” She smiled.  
“A couple of months is nothing compared to a lifetime,” she replied, then brought her lips to his.

 _Gods, I almost forgot how soft her lips are. And how good it feels joining with her mouth, her tongue, her breath._ As Sansa’s hands snaked up and cupped his face Sandor could feel his inhibitions lowering… and something else rising. _Stop it dog, now’s not the time. She was crying just a minute ago, what’s wrong with you?_ Sansa clearly felt it too because she broke the kiss and looked at him, the ends of her mouth bent into a crooked smile.

“I’m sorry, I know now’s not the time…”  
“Who says it’s not?”  
“But we were just…”  
“I’m leaving tomorrow. If not tonight when?” Sansa peeked over his shoulder at the nursery. “Are you sure she’s asleep?”  
“She seemed pretty out of it last I checked.” Her smile became a grin.  
“No time like the present.” His mouth was inches away from hers.  
“Are you sure?” Her breath ghosted his.  
“Yes, but if we’re going to do this, I want to take… precautions.”  
“I’ll arrange for some moon tea tomorrow, alright?”  
“Alright.”

Their kiss was long. Their kiss was intense. Their kiss burned. His hands scooped her up by the bottom so her legs left the ground and wrapped around his waist. He could feel the shape of her thighs and arse through the thick wool of her dress and longed to get all that fabric out the way and feel the heat of her naked flesh against his. He threw her on the bed and felt his dick throb as the hem of her dress rode up revealing a tantalising glimpse of her shapely limbs. She sat up, reached behind her and started unlacing the back. Once the laces were loose he pulled frantically at the offending garment until it was gone and only her shift was covering her. He tried to remove that too but she stopped him. He groaned in desire and frustration but she was unmoved.

“My body’s still different. I’m not quite ready for you to see me just yet.” Sandor sighed but let the last frustrating piece of white linen be.

“Guess I’ll just have to work around it” he whispered in her ear and she could only gasp in response as he lay her down and lifted her legs over his shoulders. He started at the bottom of her legs; licking his way up her ankles, calves, inside her thighs, stopping at her vagina to lavish attention on that little treasure trove of pleasure until Sansa reached her first, but not last orgasm of the night.

Once she’d come down from that high, he kissed her softly, his tongue stroking her lips as she sighed happily. That sigh soon became a moan as he started stroking her breasts, still sensitive from the changes her body had been going through. He fingered the straps of her shift.

“Can I at least take the top part down?” She nodded eagerly.

“Do it.”

The material was so thin that he could practically see through it anyway but he still felt a wave of desire when he tugged the top down and her creamy white breasts were revealed. He marvelled at the softness of their skin as he gently stroked them and the way just one touch could send his incredibly composed wife into a torrent of lust, and that was nothing compared to the reaction brought on by his mouth. As he ran his tongue over her soft pillows, biting slightly at the nipples, Sansa started panting out “Sandor” and “Gods” and “yes” and even – to his astonishment – a few curses, but he felt like he could create a stronger reaction. He kept one hand on her breast while the other inserted a finger into her womanhood and, just as he’d hoped, Sansa gave out a cry of pleasure. _She deserves this_ he thought to himself, pushing in another finger. _She’s done so much for me, for my daughter, for the realm; she deserves to be worshipped like this._ Sansa was a vision of joy; her porcelain skin flushed red like her hair, her head thrown back in a silent expression of ecstasy, and her arms clinging onto Sandor for dear life. Taking in the vision of his wife in the throes of sex, Sandor started moving his three fingers back and forth inside her. His thumb rubbed her clitoris, amplifying the effects of his fingers, eliciting a groan from Sansa’s chest; her ecstasy no longer silent. Her arms tightened around him and her nails scratched his back as that most blessed fire started to consume her whole body again. She hadn’t felt happiness as pure as this in a while. She chanted “yes” again and again, louder and louder until Sandor made something explode inside of her and she gave an almighty scream, quickly silenced by his mouth covering hers. She kissed him as the fire burnt out inside of her to a glowing ember and she collapsed on the bed, a mischievous grin spread over her face.

Sandor observed her stretched out on the bed; sated, satisfied and wondered if he should let her rest. That thought went out of his head when she reached up and cupped the throbbing bulge in his breeches that was begging to be let out.

“Don’t you want a little fun?”  
“You’re never satisfied are you?”  
“Not without you.”

He shed himself of his shirt and breeches and lowered himself between her spread legs. When he sheathed himself inside her for the first time in so long he felt an absolute sense of homecoming. _This is where I belong. This is where I will always want to be. She makes everything go away._ They moaned in unison as his thrusts started to pick up a quicker pace. Sansa wrapped her legs around his rocking waist, her heels digging into his backside urging him to go faster. With one arm Sandor sneaked around her waist to lift her up off the bed and with the other he reached up and grabbed her hand and pinned it to the mattress. His thrusts became slams as he became desperate to reach his finish. He took his hand from hers and started rubbing her pearl once again, making her walls spasm around his dick, bringing them both to their peak. Sandor buried himself in Sansa’s neck as he rode out his orgasm inside her. Finally, his strength gave out and he collapsed on top of her. In the distant corners of his mind he could feel her fingers stroking his hair.

Once he went soft he rolled off her onto his back. Refusing to have any distance between them, Sansa rolled on top of his chest and soon dozed off like that: sprawled on top of him, sweat drying on her body, hair sticking to her skin and his. She hummed contentedly when he stroked her back and he thought how happy he was to be close to her again, and what a cruel trick of fate it was that she was leaving tomorrow.


	6. The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei convenes her war council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the long wait, again. I've just moved into uni halls only to immediately have to quarantine. Guess that means more writing time! Ha ha ha (kill me).

_Cersei, Kings Landing_

The Tyrell’s were a slippery bunch. Margaery and her spiteful hag of a grandmother had a particular talent for being unreadable. That talent did not seem to extend to their male relatives, a fact made clear by ser Garlan’s poorly concealed rage.

“Where is my sister?”

He skipped the courtesies and got straight to the point. _He should have a care when talking to the Queen._

“Your unfortunate sister is being kept in a manner befitting that of a traitor.” Garlan visibly paled, though whether with fear or anger it was hard to tell. Perhaps both.  
“My sister may no longer be the Queen, but she is still a daughter of one of the great houses of Westeros.”  
“She is also an adulteress and has lied to the faith about her crimes.”  
“She protests her innocence.”  
“Who wouldn’t in her situation?” His eyes flared and for a moment, he truly looked like he was going to attack her. Cersei reflected that throwing him a bone might help to placate him, for now.

“I understand that this is a difficult time for you. I remember the pain I felt upon discovering my brother’s crimes.” She didn’t say which brother, she didn’t want to have to specify. It had not been that long since they heard from Jaime, he might still come back to her, or at least that was what she told herself everyday that passed without word from him.

“Lady Margaery is still your sister so of course, if you wish you may visit her.” _Let him look upon her ruin, how she has fallen. Let him know then the fate of those who would cross me_. “But first you are needed in the council chamber. Every moment that passes is another moment that the Targaryen girl has to prepare. Come.”

Cersei strode from her presence chamber with Garlan glowering after, but eventually following. Paxter Redwyne and Qyburn rose to greet them as they entered the small council chambers. As Cersei at the head of the table, she noticed a small roll of parchment in Qyburn’s wrinkled fingers.

“Have we had word from…” she stopped herself just in time. “Have we had word from Euron?”  
“Indeed we have, Your Grace. He was only too happy at the prospect of putting down his upstart niece. He should be here with his fleet within a fortnight.”  
“Excellent.” She and Qyburn grinned but Garlan’s lips curled in disdain and Lord Redwyne started to quiver.

“My Queen, it was my understanding that I was to act as your Lord Admiral and Master of Ships.”  
“And you are master, of your own ships. You can’t expect Euron Greyjoy to submit his own fleet to you.”  
“I don’t see what need we have of that madman and his savages.”  
“Have a care, My Lord. You speak of one of the Crown’s allies,” Qyburn interjected.

“What I think Lord Redwyne is trying to say,” Garlan cut in, having regained his sense of Tyrell diplomacy, “is that Euron Greyjoy is an infamously unstable man. And how can we trust any of the Iron-born? Have we forgotten their rebellion against King Robert?"  
“That was his brother, not Euron.”  
“A brother that he murdered.”  
“There is no proof…”  
“His brother mysteriously turns up dead on the rocks and then a few days later, the Crowseye emerges after years of being lost to the world to claim his crown. What more proof do you need than that? How are we meant to trust a man who would murder his own blood and join forces with his people’s sworn enemies?”

A white-hot rage was burning inside Cersei. This man had been in the Capitol less than a day and was already undermining her in front of her own council. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so determined to keep the Tyrell’s close. She forced herself to calm down, before coolly replying:

“I understand your reservations about Euron Greyjoy. We have – after all – been at war with his people for generations, but now is the time to heal old wounds and form a new alliance. I strongly believe that they will prove vital in crushing this rebellion and I am sure that given time, you will come to trust and respect Greyjoy as I do. Now,” she turned to Qyburn, “what news is there of the Dragon Girl’s forces?”

“I have reports from Dragonstone that Sansa Clegane is no longer there.” _That murderous little bitch._ She was eager to see that girl again. For every second that her sweet boy suffered, she would see that she would suffer a year.

“Has the little girl lost her nerve already?”  
“Possibly, it’s more probable that she’s on a diplomatic mission. I expect the main reason Daenerys Targaryen wanted her was because she holds the key to the North.”

Ser Robert Strong loomed above Cersei, who had allowed herself a manic grin. If reports were to be believed, her son’s former dog had grown rather fond of his little dove. Why else would he have gone to the trouble of whisking her away to the Eastern Lands? He could even have assisted her and Tyrion in planning Joff’s murder. She could only imagine the pain it would cause him if the older brother that had tormented him throughout his childhood were to get his hands on the woman he loved. Such grief would be enough to drive a man to madness.

“Wherever she is, find out and bring her to me, alive.”

“Of course.”


	7. White Harbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah returns to home soil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and season's greetings to you all. Hope you're well and enjoy this chapter.

_Jorah, White Harbour_

Jorah watched as they approached the outline of White Harbour. Perhaps it was just the sea turning his stomach but every time he thought of facing the northmen, all of whom knew of his disgrace, he felt like retching. Luckily he wasn't vital to this mission, he was just here to protect the one that was. That was the way things had been for most of his life, not that he resented it. He didn't envy Lady Sansa the task of winning the North; the great effort it would require to complete the task, nor the possibly catastrophic fallout should she fail. His Queen and the Lady seemed to think that her Stark heritage would be enough to sway the Northern Lords, but Jorah wasn't so sure. It was true that the name "Stark" still held great power in the North. They were as much part of the North as weirwoods or the Wall, and it was said the blood of the first men ran through their veins. They'd ruled the Northerners for generations and if there was one characteristic Northerners valued, it was loyalty - that and strength. Strength was something the Starks had precious little of now. The dismal failure of Robb Stark's rebellion had been a bitter blow. There only remained one true Stark, two if you counted little Helena (which Jorah doubted the Northerners would considering her father) and three if you counted the bastard. Lady Sansa had the power of his beloved Queen at her back but she was an outsider, and the Northerners were deeply prejudiced to outsiders.

Jorah's heart ached when he thought of his Queen. He disliked being so far away from her side but she'd insisted, though she hadn't seemed too pleased to lose him. Perhaps it was just his heart tricking his eyes, but she could have sworn that there were tears glistening her violet eyes as they said their farewells. 

"I shall miss you, my big strong bear," she'd said as she'd clutched his course hands in her own delicate, regal ones. "But there is no one else I trust as much as you to keep my councilwoman safe."  
"How about her husband?"  
"There is nowhere Lord Stark could go where he would not be recognised. Besides, the duties of fatherhood must keep him here."  
"Just as the duties of l...of loyalty send me away." He'd so nearly said "love" and he thought that his Queen knew that as she smiled sadly and caressed his cheek with those oh so soft hands.   
"The duties of...loyalty will also bring you back in time. Please, please come back to me." He'd almost believed she meant to kiss him but she withdrew her hands from his body and herself from his presence before he had the chance to make a fool of himself. _Always so gracious, so dignified, just as a Queen should be._ He knew that she would never return his feelings and that he should be grateful that she loved him the way she did, but he could not stop his heart from longing. It sometimes felt as though the longing had gotten worse recently. He used to resign himself to the fact that he was an old, ugly man from a minor house and that it was therefore impossible that a young, beautiful royal woman could ever desire him. Then he'd met Sandor Clegane, _no Stark_. He was not quite so old as him, but certainly not young and definitely uglier than him and his house was even more inconsequential than his own. And yet he had not only incurred the desire of the young and famous beauty set to inherit the North, but had won her love, married her and fathered her child. It was possible that seeing them together; the love that existed between them and their undying loyalty to each other had given him some hope. _Circumstance brought them together, love bound them. Mayhap in time, it will do the same for me and My Queen._

As if summoned by his thoughts, the Lady Sansa materialised at his side. Sansa Stark was known throughout the realm as a famous beauty with flaming locks, an ivory complexion and sky-blue eyes so dying her red hair to a deep black and dressing her in rags would hopefully render her unrecognisable. She still looked like a highborn woman - her features were delicate and untempered by poverty and she held herself as though she knew the height of her worth. There were times when Jorah would look at her and see his wife: Lynesse. _Another young and beautiful highborn woman who could not love me. Perhaps Lady Sansa is the exception to her sex_. After an emotional farewell to her husband and daughter, she'd spent the first few days locked away in her cabin, but now she was up on deck, staring straight ahead with a determined look on her face. 

"The captain says we'll dock within the hour."  
"Once we reach shore I have money for an inn."  
"Nothing too fine. Remember we're meant to be a sailor and his daughter."  
"As you say, My Lady."  
"From there, it's a simple matter of getting an audience with Lord Manderley without alerting Cersei's men to our presence."  
"No small feat. From what I hear, White Harbour is crawling with Freys making sure the Lord behaves himself."   
"I know the dangers that threaten us ser Jorah."  
"Of course. Forgive me, I meant no offence."

She turned to him and when she smiled, all his uneasiness was placated. 

"I know you didn't, and you needn't worry. You gave none."

They docked in White Harbour, and immediately made for the inn. Hoods raised and faces lowered, they walked quickly, making eye contact with no one. They found an inn with greasy walls, a cold draught and a foul-mouthed keeper. Yet the bread was fresh, the meat cooked, and the mead nice and strong. Jorah had but a cup, not wishing to inhibit his fighting abilities but still he found the room swaying as he escorted Lady Sansa to her bed. Clearly it was affecting her too as she stumbled up the stairs, nearly losing her footing several times. She fell through the door onto the bed and gazed up at him with eyes lidded with sleep.

"Ser Jorah..." then she was out. Jorah cursed as he realised that this was not just the effects of alcohol, and that they were being followed. He just about had the presence of mind to draw his sword, but no strength to lift it. The last thing he saw was three hooded men entering their room then the floor rushing up to meet him.


	8. The Court of the Mermaids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa treats with Lord Wyman Manderley

_Sansa, White Harbour_

Her eyelids felt as though they weighed ten tons and everywhere that she looked a mist seemed to follow her. She felt a mattress under her back, a pillow under her head and through the fog she could make out a canopy looming above her. Upon realising she was in bed she reached over for Sandor but found only empty sheets. Then the events of the previous night – if it had been the previous night – came back in a torrent. Sansa shot up, regretting it immediately as her head swam and she resisted the urge to vomit. She peered around the room, trying to make out ser Jorah, but realised she was alone in this unfamiliar bedchamber. Struggling to stay on her feet, she staggered over to the door only to find it locked. She knocked and called and pounded on the door to no avail; whoever had shut her in here had no intentions of letting her out. She kept yelling and hammering on the door but still no response came and every scream and swing of her fist sapped her energy. Eventually, Sansa despaired of alerting anyone and only just managed to make it back to the bed before she was once again consumed by darkness.

Sansa was woken again by a gentle shaking on her shoulders.

“My lady. Please Lady Sansa, wake up.” The voice was a stranger to her but she recognised the Northern accent. Her head felt a little clearer and her body less weak but she feigned exhaustion. The man firmly but not unkindly pulled her up and supported her as she swayed on her feet.

“Can you stand?”   
“I think so.”   
“Good, Lord Manderley wants to speak with you.” That perked her up. She wished to get an audience with the Lord of White Harbour and she’d accomplished that much at least.

It had been many years since she’d been in the presence of Wyman Manderley. Her memory pictured him as one of the biggest men she’d ever seen, and her memory was correct. The lord who greeted her in his presence chamber was a great mass of pink flesh and white fur, yet amidst all that, the eyes that met hers were intelligent and shrewd, and his smile seemed sincere.

“Lady Sansa! The last time I saw you, you only reached my waist. Now here you stand: wife, mother, and envoy to a queen.”   
“You know why I’m here then.”   
“The news that you and your husband returned to these lands by the side of Daenerys Stormborn is common knowledge.”   
“And how have the Northern lords responded to the news?”   
“We all rant and rave about you have betrayed your rightful king and collaborated with the Greyjoys. We tell Lord Bolton that this is evidence that his line is meant to rule. How they truly feel is hard to tell.”   
“You seem glad to see me.” His smile widened.   
“Oh I am.”

His warmness made Sansa feel safe, almost like a child again, but she could not allow herself to be overwhelmed by it.   
“You’re not concerned about who I’m with?”   
“I care more about who rules the North than who sits the Iron Throne. Boltons are not meant to preside over Winterfell. It is your family’s seat and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. If this Targaryen is willing to restore you, so be it.”   
“Just to be clear, if I were to be restored by Daenerys, it would be as Warden of the North not queen. I know that the North has suffered under Southern rule but I have seen how she presides as a Queen and we would do well to be part of her kingdom.”   
“If that is how you feel, I trust your judgement.”

There was something in Lord Wyman’s face when he said that, that prevented her from fully believing him, but she couldn’t afford to dispute him now. She would have to deal with his supposed dissidence later.   
“So that’s it then? You are willing to support my claim and the claim of the Dragon Queen?”   
“I am. Are you surprised?”   
“To be perfectly honest I expected a little more opposition. I heard your court was crawling with Freys.”   
“It was. Unfortunately, a group of them were lost on the way to Ramsey Bolton’s wedding.”   
“That is unfortunate. The roads are so treacherous.”   
“Especially during war time.” This was definitely going better than Sansa had imagined. One of the Northern lords had already declared his support for her and a group of Freys were dead. Sansa imagined how they’d died. Had their throats been slit like her mother’s or were they filled with quarrels and decapitated like her brother? She supposed it didn’t matter how they died, so long as they were dead.

“Before we decide anything else, I must ask what you’ve done with my protector.”   
“You mean Jorah Mormont? I’m surprised he had the gall to set foot here again after his treachery.”   
“He did so under orders from his Queen with the intention of defending me.”   
“Your own father banished him for selling slaves.”   
“A crime for which he is now atoning through service to the rightful ruler. He is a skilled warrior and is wasted in exile. Let his punishment serve some purpose.”   
“As you wish, My Lady. Bring him in,” he called and ser Jorah was marched into the chambers.

“Lady Sansa. I apologise it seems I am not fully living up to my promise to protect you.”   
“Do not worry ser Jorah, I need no protecting from Lord Manderley.”   
“I have known the Lady Sansa since she was a child, I am unfailingly loyal to her family and have declared my support for her cause.”   
“Where was your ‘unfailing loyalty’ when the Starks were slaughtered?”   
“There were no Starks to be loyal to after the Red Wedding.”   
“So you just…”   
“Enough!” Sansa cut in sharply. “This bickering demeans you both.”   
“Of course, deepest apologies My Lady,” Wyman grovelled while Jorah looked down sheepishly.   
  
“If I am to retake the North, I need to gather support from the other lords. May we impose upon you for some supplies and horses?”   
“I will provide you with more than that. I know two other warriors willing to lay down their lives for you if need be.” Sansa heard the door swing open behind her and Jorah cursed. She whipped round and was greeted with two faces – one a stranger, and the other all too well known to her. He was less well kempt and had lost his cocky grin but there was no mistaking that devastatingly handsome face nor those golden locks.   
  
“Kingslayer,” she hissed before rounding on Lord Manderley. “What is the meaning of this treachery?”   
“It is no treachery; I do this entirely with your best interests at heart.” This did nothing to comfort Sansa.   
“Lady Sansa…” Jaime Lannister’s silken voice filled her with such visceral hatred that she could stand to hear no more.   
“No!” He immediately fell silent. “You…” she raised a trembling hand to him. “You do not speak to me.” His expression betrayed nothing, he merely nodded.   
  
“Believe me Lady Stark I was just as surprised and angry as you are now when he turned up at my gates. I thought it some vile Lannister deception and turned him away. But every day for a fortnight he and his companion returned to my gates and made the same request: to fight for the North. Then one day he told me that you had arrived in White Harbour. I was intrigued by the fact that he had told me instead of his sister so I invited him in and heard him out, but I think he would explain himself better if you would allow him.”   
  
Gathering all her endurance, Sansa turned back to Jaime. “You have five minutes to explain yourself.”   
  
“Lady Stark, I make no attempt to deny the grievous wounds my house has inflicted upon yours, nor will I pretend to be able to atone for them. I come here before you now because I wish to put some good out into the world and to know what it is to fight for a cause you believe in. My nephew is a good boy but my sister she… years of loss and pain have made her bitter, paranoid and as you well know she is the last person in the world who should be ruling Westeros. I was conflicted when I heard the last Targaryen was returning to claim her birth-right, but I realised that people should not be held responsible for the actions of their family, and when I heard that you were with her - knowing what a good heart you have – I knew you would not support her if she were not worth supporting. I believe that by serving you I can fulfil two callings: to prevent my family from hurting the Seven Kingdoms any further, and to undo the harm done by my father to the Starks. So, it is with a humble but hopeful heart that I offer my services and ask to swear my sword to you,” he concluded, kneeling and offering up his sword.   
  
Sansa looked down where he knelt. She did not speak; she feared if she opened her mouth she would start screaming or sobbing. She suddenly felt very tired and the room started to spin before a pair of strong arms was holding her up. It took a moment to realise that it was the Kingslayer who had prevented her fall, and she broke away from him.   
  
“Very well put, Lannister, very articulate indeed, but I could no more trust you than your sister.” She was about to leave the room when a new voice stopped her in her tracks.   
  
“Lady Stark please.” It belonged to his companion. Having been preoccupied with the Jaime Lannister, only now did Sansa get a proper look at the woman who accompanied him: she was tall – the largest woman she’d ever seen, she wore expensive looking sapphire blue armour, her teeth were crooked, her nose was broken and scars crossed her face where a blade had met it, yet her eyes were such an intense blue that it was truly startling. This woman was big, strong and armed, all of which should have made her seem fierce, but she stood with the stature of someone who wished they could disappear from the room.   
  
“Forgive me, I do not know your face.” “My name is Brienne, daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth.” The name rang a vague bell. She believed Tarth was a small island though she’d never been. “I had the honour of serving your mother for a time.”   
“I don’t remember you.”   
“It was after the War of the Five Kings began. I fought for Renly for a time but after he was killed, she was the only one who believed in me and would accept me into her service. I was her sworn shield and defended her to the best of my ability.”   
“Then why did you allow her to be murdered at the Twins?”   
“I was not with her at the Twins. If I had then any man that touched her would be dead, but my Lady had charged me with returning ser Jaime to Kings Landing.”   
“Why in all the seven hells would she do that?”   
“To buy life for you and your sister. Ser Jaime gave his word that if I returned him to his family then he would return you to yours, but by the time we returned we were too late so he sent me out to find you.”   
“If he gave my mother his word, why didn’t he go himself?”   
“He felt bound by honour as a member of the Kingsguard to stay and protect the King.”   
“Then why isn’t he there now?” “As he told you, My Lady, he came to realise that Tommen was not meant to sit the throne and that Cersei was ruling through him and tearing the kingdom apart.”   
“So he left her, just like that?”   
“Well…it’s a bit more complicated than that.”   
“Meaning?” Brienne shifted uncomfortably before her friend rescued her.   
  
“She means that before I left, I captured Riverrun.” To everyone’s astonishment, Sansa laughed at that.   
“You mean that after robbing the other half of my family from their ancestral seat you have the sheer audacity to offer yourself as an ally?” His head dipped in shame.   
“It is an action that I deeply regret. I only wish that I had come to my senses sooner.”   
“Lady Sansa,” Brienne cut in, “I completely understand your reservations but if you will not trust him then trust me. I desire nothing more than to serve you and your family and I can vouch that there is good in him. He not only saved me from rapers, but he…”   
“Brienne.”

The manner in which he said her name was short and sharp. Clearly she was about to reveal something he did not want. She couldn’t imagine what he should wish to keep from her considering what he had already confessed. Sansa observed them both. She was sure that she could never trust Jaime Lannister but this Brienne did not seem like a liar. The way she looked at Sansa, there was such pleading in it that she found it disconcerting.   
  
“If I may point something out,” said Wyman, “if Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne should prove to be false, you still have Mormont to protect you…unless you doubt his abilities.” Sansa purpled with rage. He’d backed her into a corner – now she had to accept their services or insult her protector.   
  
“Fine,” she snapped. “But I have my eye on both of you. We leave tomorrow at the crack of dawn.” The two companions bowed and left. Sansa was about to leave too, desperately craving some rest, but Wyman stopped her.   
“Where will you go first?” She regarded him suspiciously and he chuckled.   
“Very well, if I do not yet have your trust, you do not need to tell me. I shall keep my men here and await your instructions. I presume you know to avoid Hornwood land?”   
“Of course.”   
“And you also do not need to bother with Last Hearth, I am already assured of the Umber’s support.”   
“And how do you know that?”   
“Because they’ve been harbouring Rickon on Skagos.”   
  
All the air went out of her lungs. Suddenly she was doubled over making the most remarkable noise. It was as if all the conflicting emotions of the day had boiled over and were now escaping her body uncontrollably. Once she had regained her composure, she responded:   
“And Bran?” The lord sagged.   
“There has been no sign of him. The lad claims he went beyond the wall.” Sansa’s elation went as suddenly as it came. She wondered what could have possibly possessed him to do that. As is if reading her mind, Wyman added: “I’m sure he had a good reason, My Lady, and whatever it is, you will know soon enough.”


End file.
